Cameroon letter #8 - So Many Beautiful Things

Dear friends,

I’ve clambered up the squeaky ladder to my top bunk – don’t worry, it’s secure – and am sitting, one foot tucked under the other leg, staring at my computer screen and running through images in my mind. There is so much I want to tell you, where do I begin?

                Okay, first – some of you have asked why I’ve addressed my Cameroon blogs to my sister Ruthanna. Two reasons – 1) it’s much easier for me to write with a specific person in mind, and 2) during my visit to Niger, I wrote to my brothers; now it’s Ruthanna’s turn. I find that writing to a specific, close friend brings a certain slant and greater intimacy to my posts. And being a person who prizes, above all, trust and intimacy, I feel that I’m at my most authentic as a writer when I write to a loved one. That’s what I want to give my readers – my friends – I want to give you authenticity, even when it’s messy, confused, missing the point entirely, as myopic as my actual eyes are (and they’re not good).

Fruit stand in Douala

Which brings me to the second thing… transparency in my writing. I used to value having a good image, whether or not it’s true or real. There is a part of me that still does; pridefully, I’d like to be the best ever at everything. It’s not as strong as it once was; I read some of my old writings and I feel the tenseness of them, the tightly-wound attempts to say something I should say and look good saying it. There’s also a part of me that is ugly, that gets angry, that is harsh and judgmental. Friends have told me how sometimes the things I write hurt them. When I read some of my old – and even newer – writing I feel its cold cruel nails digging through the words, poking me as a reader, just like they poked me as a writer.  And I am sorry for it; I wish there wasn’t also an ugly part of me. I only share my blog with friends, so I know most of my readers personally, and I care for you. I am so sorry that I’ve got these protruding sharp edges that nick you and that are only being exposed further as the lies and the distances that cover my immaturities are revealed by the more-honest way I’m trying to live my life. Thank you for loving me, and please pray for me.

Because, thirdly, I so much want to be honest and wholehearted. I want to be completely present for my life. I want to own my decisions and be fully accountable for what I say, do, and think. In my blogging, I want my readers to know me, know what to expect, know what they are taking or leaving. I want to stand in front of God and say, “This is entirely me; that huge mistake where I destroyed years of goodness there was all mine; that incredible moment of triumph when you and I stood hand in hand, everything I was was wrapped up in my hand in yours; I have opened up every piece of who I am and found you still able to look at me, and that’s why everything is worth it.” Because that’s real intimacy, isn’t it? That’s real trust, real pearls of great price to sell your life for, real love. Not that there is no pain or disagreement, but that we held on no matter how hard it was. And for God, who has held on despite being my second or third or fourth leftover failure choice so many times, and for you, who are still reading, loving, praying, hoping regardless of how jagged I get – I am so thankful.

Laking prints (Cameroonian fabric)

So, fourthly, thankfulness. I’ve been thinking this past week about things I’m thankful for and I want to start sharing more of those with you. It’s hard sometimes to know what to tell you about my time here on Mercy Ships. I want to respect the privacy of my fellow staff and patients. I want to observe but not judge the way things work in this incredible organization, in the country that surrounds us, in the melee of cultures I am so much enjoying and so challenged by. I want to be attuned to but not assumptive about what God is doing in the lives that surround me and in my own. But I’ve been thinking that I should just tell you beautiful things I see, because there are so many.

Beautiful Things:

-          Last week one of our patients in D ward was too weak to feed himself; by the time we nurses noticed, another patient had sat down on the bed and was feeding the weaker one

-          This week one of my patients kept repetitively asking the one next to her if he spoke Fulfulde; he didn’t, and he was clearly confused and then a little annoyed – but he was so kind and gentle to her

-          One of our fussy baby patients’ mothers was worn out and sick with exhaustion; another patient, recovering from facial surgery, got up and tied the baby onto her own back and played with her for hours so her mother could rest

-          Many of my fellow nurses have to work around language barriers; for some, English is not their first language, and they have to speak English to an interpreter who translates it to French to a patient who doesn’t understand French well. The communication can take so long, but everyone stays calm and kind to each other

-          Sometimes when our interpreters don’t know a patient’s dialect, another patient steps up and translates for them

-          Today I was walking down the stairs reading something on my phone – yes, I’m not smart – and the ship’s chief officer stopped me and said, so very kindly, “Excuse me, please don’t look at your phone while you’re on the stairs, I don’t want you to break an ankle.”

-          My bunkmate Jill saves me breakfast when I have to work a late shift and don’t feel like getting up during breakfast hour

-          My roommates Danita and Mica showed me how to walk out the gate of the port to a nearby supermarket

-          I’ve met with a staff member from the ship’s chaplaincy department a few times to talk about some of the questions I’m working through as I process elements of being an MK that MercyShips has brought back, and also questions I have about how to serve in a similar capacity when I’m a physician – she has been so compassionate and wise to a near-total stranger

-          A few days ago I was caring for three young male patients who had beds side by side and a lovely little bromance; I look over halfway through my shift and the first one, who had a tracheostomy, had learned how to cap it with his finger and was singing around it while the second one had pulled up a stool to the foot of the third one’s bed and was blowing bubbles with a bubble wand so the third one could hit them with his hand mirror

-          One of the Cameroonian chaplains has adopted me as her daughter because she has a daughter named Tabitha; I call her Mama and she gives me a huge hug every time and says “ma fille!” I think she knows I’m missing my mom a lot

-          My dad set up a phone call with me so he could help me work on my Fulfulde grammar and answer some questions I had about culturally-sensitive care for a complicated Fulani patient

-          Ruthanna knows how sad I am to miss helping her pick one and get dolled up for prom, so she’s been sending me pictures of the dresses she looked at

-          Today Ruthanna sent me a picture of a bouquet of flowers she picked for me (insert tears of joy)

-     When women who receive treatment for vesico-vaginal fistulas are ready to be discharged from the Africa Mercy hospital, the organization buys them a beautiful new outfit and they are the guests of honor at the weekly Dress Ceremony, where they are congratulated on their recovery. During the Dress Ceremony each woman is given an opportunity to speak. I have only been able to attend one Dress Ceremony, but it brought me to tears to hear the women's stories - "I was so undesirable, even my own child wouldn't drink from the same cup as me," "I had my sickness for eighteen, twenty, thirty years," "I had no life, no one wanted me." These women have regained wellness, continence, and confidence and it was incredible to hear them speak and to watch them dance with the staff and fellow patients during the celebratory music at the end of the ceremony. Watching them, I was blown away at the magnitude of what Mercy Ships is able to do. I wish you could have seen it. 

-          Every morning and evening our chaplaincy department brings out drums and beaded gourds (they sound kind of like maracas) to the hospital hallway and sings praise songs; the patients who can walk get up and walk in a procession and sing and dance. They laugh and enjoy themselves even if they don’t share the Christian faith. MercyShips is openly a Christian organization, but from what I’ve observed they are open about Christianity but don’t pressure patients. I value that, and I also value the graciousness with which our Muslim and traditionally-religious patients engage with other patients and staff.

-          Today when I was walking back to the ship from a local supermarket I passed the rehab tent where many of our discharged patients wait for follow-up appointments and physical therapy; a little girl came out to take my hand. It was my precious Rahimatou! Then a little boy I cared for ran up and body-slam-hugged me. He’d come back to see the doctor because he popped a suture in his lip loose (somehow not surprising given his personality) and will probably need another suture, but he looks great and clearly feels well. I love seeing my patients doing well.

These are just a few of the beautiful things I see, but I will have many more for you. We can't take pictures with patients ourselves, but the Africa Mercy photographers do and post them on a shared drive. I'm figuring out how to access it so I can share some of those with you. Thank you for your love, patience, prayers, sincerity, and the ways knowing you all makes my life so beautiful.

Love, Tabi